


I'm coming out of my cage (And I've been doing just fine)

by Xenomorphic



Category: POKÉMON Detective Pikachu (2019)
Genre: 5+1 Fic, 5+1 Things, Gen, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-03-29 17:30:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19024603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenomorphic/pseuds/Xenomorphic
Summary: Five times Harry and Hideo share a cup of coffee, and one time they share a cup of tea.Or, the story of how they get together after Harry's "death".





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing, nothing at all. Characters and such belong to Pokémon Company, Legendary, Toho and Warner, I guess. I'm just craving for more of these two. Tittle's from The Killers' Mr Brightside.

Prologue

After the very dramatic flash of light that signals his separation from Pikachu’s body, he has three or four seconds in which he looks up and says “Tim?” before he’s keeling over and puking on their shoes.

“Dad?!”

Suddenly he’s looking up and all he can see are Tim’s and Pikachu’s worried, wide-eyed faces as he hears the faint sounds of approaching people, hopefully medics. He’s shoved into a now crowded ambulance and rushed to the nearby hospital, Tim clutching his hand the whole time, which is nice. By the time they reach the Memorial he’s already feeling better, but he’s wheeled into an examination room either way, the doctor’s and nurses’ faces paling as Tim explains how his consciousness had been inside a Pikachu’s body for a week. He’d like to give his input but he might just feel a bit tired and a bit numb, and they’re the doctors not him, so he just lets them take his vitals and prod him and move him around, and he doesn’t complain – much – when they decide to keep him in the hospital overnight, as a precaution.

He gets half an hour or so with Tim and Pikachu, just the three of them in a small but comfy room, Tim just quietly staring at him from the chair, either processing the fact that he poured his heart out to his father instead of Pikachu like he’d thought, or that his _father was a Pikachu_ … maybe both, yeah.

At some point he’s looking at Tim’s general direction when movement somewhere above his son’s shoulder catches his eye. It’s Hideo.

The Lieutenant is speaking with the doctor who’d seen him, probably asking her if he could ask a few questions, and he can see the woman gently shaking her head as she says something. He wouldn’t mind talking with Hideo, he knows he wouldn’t drill him with a full out interrogation, but he also wouldn’t mind spending some more minutes with his kid he hasn’t seen in years, at least until his eyelids start to grow heavy.

He catches Hideo’s eyes just before he averts his gaze and he sees _something_ there. He doesn’t want to think about the what, because it looks a little broken, a little desperate and that’s… that’s not good, not for their agreement.

He nods once in friendly acknowledgement and turns to Pikachu before he regrets anything.

1

He feels right as rain in two, maybe three days. All he does in that time is rest, rest _a lot_ ; he only leaves the house to get groceries with Tim and then to take him to the train station, from where they go to get coffee and then back at the apartment at Tim’s insistence: apparently knowing your father would’ve died if it weren’t for a body-swapping Mewtwo and a willing Pikachu leaves something of a mark, go figure.

Harry doesn’t step into the precinct until four days after the whole Parade thing, which is one day sooner than Hideo had told him to, which… isn’t a surprise at all, if Hideo’s and Snubbull’s reactions are to be trusted.

“I hope you’re taking the rest of your doctor’s indications more seriously,” Hideo says in that way of his, both judging and teasing, lifted eyebrow and all. Snubbull just stares at him and huffs, goes all soft and pliant when Harry reaches out with a hand and scratches him in that spot behind his ears.

“I’m feeling just fine, thanks for asking, and how are _you_ doing?”

Hideo snorts, amused despite himself as he usually is.

“Where’s Pikachu? And Tim? I’ve met him twice and I already like him better.”

Harry grips his chest with his free hand in mock hurt.

“You wound me, Hideo. And here I thought we had something special.”

He gets a rare eyeroll this time and he’s going to treasure it for the rest of the week.

Harry likes to think that _this_ , the teasing and the mocking and the back and forths, is theirs. He has no pretenses and no claims where Hideo’s concerned, he gave them up last year, but this is theirs and he sure loves every second of it.

“Anyway,” he starts as he makes himself at home in front of the pair. “Tim went back to his grandma’s for a couple of days, had a few things to do, asked if Pikachu could go with him and I gave him the go.”

“And because there’s nobody to keep you company, you decided to drop by and pester me instead of resting like you should.”

“Eh, yes and no. I’m actually on my way to the library, the detour was a spur of the moment sort of thing,” he corrects as he gestures at his messenger bag on the other chair, thinks about how he’d missed talking with Hideo, but even though they’re on stable ground, have been for the last few months, he doesn’t believe he could get away with actually saying it, out loud, to the other man. “Plus, I was getting cabin fever?”

“Figures,” the Lieutenant says from above the rim of his water glass. “I’m answering emails, but I shouldn’t take long. Want me to join you?”

He perks up almost the same way Snubbull does and Hideo snickers, eyes half-closed and body leaning just a bit to his left.

“And coffee after?”

“Sure, coffee sounds good right now.”

It’s nice, the easy way it’s always been, save for those admittedly horrible couple of months. Hideo focuses back on the screen in front of him, Harry snoops around the folders and papers neatly piled on the desk, spoils Snubbull with rubs and scratches. A few people greet them and ask how he’s doing as they make their way out of the building, and then they walk to the library, chatting about their week as they slowly make their way through the busy streets. It’s a bit chilly, autumn making itself noticed, and the library isn’t exactly close, but they don’t mind it; as a matter of fact, they quite like it that way. He doesn’t take long once they’re there, making his way through the horror shelves as his companions sneak around: Harry’s the library mouse, Hideo’s always been the bookstore type, but sometimes he finds something he’s never seen before.

They go to _Le Voyage_ , a nice café owned by a nice older (than himself, thought maybe not by as much as he’d like to think) couple. It’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kinda place he’d found during his first months in Ryme City, warm and comfortable in a way most places aren’t, lively in a calm manner; a couple of years later, Hideo’d been just as taken with it as himself.

Harry gets his usual coffee, black, and Hideo a mochaccino, the two of them sharing a slice of apple pie as Snubbull _inhales_ his biscuits. He’s aware they must look like a couple, and if he knows then Hideo knows too, but it’s never been a problem and he’s not planning on making it one _now_.

“And how have you been?”

Hodeo doesn’t ask for specifics, but he doesn’t have to.

“I’ve been fine, I think? As fine as someone who nearly died and only survived thanks to an overpowered Mewtwo and a loving Pikachu can be, I guess. Plus, you know, the general guilt, occasional phantom pain in my abdomen from nearly dying a second time, the awkwardness of being a Pikachu for a week, the embarrassment and anger at being played with, the usual.”

The other man winces a bit, probably in sympathy.

“Do you remember anything?”

“Mostly bits and pieces, but I remember enough,” he says that last part while giving Hideo a pointed look, which he catches on almost immediately. Smart guy. “I’d like to know what you were thinking when you showed Tim that footage.”

“I wasn’t,” he answers meeting his eyes head on, something like regret painted all over his face. “I know we don’t speak about this sort of thing, but you’re very important to me, Harry, and I was doing bad when… I didn’t know how to handle any of it.”

Harry stares at him, quietly eating a forkful of pie, considering.

“Alright. But you should apologize to Tim.”

Hideo nods and lowers his gaze to his half-empty coffee cup.

“Are you angry at me? For,” and there he makes a vague, all-encompassing motion with the cup in his hand, “anything, really.”

“No, of course not. I understand what you mean, you’re important to me too, and I doubt I’d handle anything like that any better.” He winces for emphasis, “believe me, I already fucked up big time once in my life because I couldn’t.”

Hideo relaxes then, looks softer and more tired, almost impossibly so.

“I’ll talk to Tim whenever I see him next, which, having you as the middleman, won’t be long.”

He rolls his eyes _so_ hard at that.

“I’m really not that bad, but since when have you cared about what I say?”

He gets a grin.

“And how have things been with Tim?”

He lights up at that and tells Hideo all about the last couple of days, and how much Tim has grown up from the last time they’d seen each other and how they’ve been talking and getting used to each other, meeting each other. He’s not quite done with his monologue by the time they finish eating, but he guesses it’s enough for today: he should get going and he needs to grab a few things at the convenience store, and Hideo looks like he’ll fall asleep on him any second now. The Lieutenant waits with him at the bus stop and Snubbull gets a few extra scratches as his bus approaches. Hideo and he hug it out at the very last moment, warm and close and everything he needed.

“It was nice talking with you, Hideo.”

“Likewise. Let me know you if you need anything, you know I don’t mind keeping you company. And take care of yourself, will you?”

He goes gome. He doesn’t tell Hideo how much he wished he were there, Snubbull and snoring and all.

 


	2. Chapter 2

2

Tim comes back in the noon train a couple of days later, towing two suitcases with Pikachu perched on his shoulder and a Cubone in a sling across his chest. Well, good thing he thought about bringing a rental, huh?

Because his size is roughly the same as Pikachu’s, Cubone poses no challenge to their small apartment. He wishes he could say the furniture goes unscathed as well.

It’s not that bad though, if he’s honest, but there’s only so much leeway he can give the little demon when he gets home from the doctor the next morning and finds his couch upturned, blankets and cushions visible from the crevice formed beneath it, and Pikachu darts right into it, a small, sleepy “cubone” barely audible from where he’s standing by the doorway. Tim’s standing by the kitchen, cup of coffee steaming from the grip of his hand, bed-hair and rumpled pajamas, and a confused look in his eyes; he’s probably wondering how such a tiny critter managed to build a nest out of furniture four times its size. Oh, the wonders of Pokémon, right?

“They’ll be there a while, so you should find somewhere else to sit, unless you wanna bother a sleeping Cubone and a hell of a Pikachu.”

Tim shudders, and he doubts it’s because of a draft.

They end up sitting on some cushions Cubone left behind, cross-legged around the coffee table, news playing in the background occasionally piking their interest.

“So, what did the doctor say?” Tim asks when they’re nearly done eating, half awkward and half bashful.

“She said I’m fine, which I’ve been saying I am for days, but none of you want to believe me.”

Tim’s eyes go a little wide, less surprised and more curious.

“Me and who else?”

“Hideo? Oh, um, Lieutenant Yoshida.”

“You guys clo–,” the kid stops before finishing his question and Harry looks at him in askance. He’s more alert now, Tim, seemingly mulling over something before realization takes over. “ _Oh_. You guys must be really close.”

“What makes you think that?” They are close, of course, but he’s interested in Tim’s thought process more than anything else right now.

“I mean, he looked really wrecked, that’s a good word for it I guess, when I met him,” he frowns for a moment before he continues. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you this, but anyway. When we first met, the day I got here, he looked miserable and like he’d been crying, you know, red puffy eyes and that. I don’t know, I guess I caught on to that you guys were friends, but I wasn’t really _there_ to see that you were so close… does it make any sense?”

He barely registers the question, but it doesn’t matter, with Tim looking at his general direction without actually paying attention to him, which is kinda good, because Harry? Harry feels a bit like a Pokémon in headlights, pulse speeding up a notch and a knot forming in his throat. He doesn’t need, or want, this, except maybe he does, and for a terrible couple of seconds he’s not sure which one’s true. He chooses to ignore it, for the time being.

“He was my first friend here,” he says before Tim can get back on his feet and notice his old man’s spacing out too. “He’s been there for me at my worst and I’ve tried my best to do the same for him. He’s one of the best people I’ve ever met,” he finishes with Tim’s full attention on him, and he means it.

Later that day he waltzes into Hideo’s office again, only this time he does so with professional purpose and laden with gifts, meaning coffee and pastries from that place around the corner where seemingly everyone in a two block radius goes to get their caffeine fix, and treats for Pikachu and Snubbull both. Unlike earlier in the week, the Lieutenant’s not in his office by the time Harry gets there, but he’s told the man should come back soon enough and Snubbull’s lazing about in a chair, so he sets the cups in the desk and takes seat with one of Hideo’s folders in his hands to wait.

He’s sifting through a second folder, Pikachu and Snubbull playing with a ball around the room, when Hideo appears, more folders under his arm and a disposable coffee cup in his hand and looking somewhat ragged as he glares at Harry.

“Before you throw me out, you should know the coffee I brought you tastes a lot better than _that_ ,” he’s quick to announce, jabbing an accusatory finger at the offending cup in the other man’s left hand.

Hideo sighs and closes the door behind himself, drinks whatever was left of his coffee – cold and disgusting, he can tell by the wrinkle that forms next to his right eye – before tossing the cup in the trash and taking a seat.

“I thought you’d stay at home, what with Tim back.” He sounds tired and more than a little annoyed, and he looks it too.

“Yeah, I’m just here to pay a visit, I’ll be out of your hair soon.” He really doesn’t wanna bother Hideo, he knows his limits. Still, “wanted to let you know my doctor gave me all green lights this morning, see if you had anything for me, maybe something I could help with?”

He pushes the boxed pastries towards Hideo’s side with his knuckles, a peace offering of sorts. The Lieutenant wrings his hands together, leans his elbows on the desk and his forehead on his hands.

“Maybe you could teach some people how to do their jobs for me.”

 _Damn_.

“Richards at it again, huh? Guy’s never gonna learn, sorry.”

Hideo grunts which catches Snubbull’s attention, who comes trotting to see if there’s anything wrong with his partner and gets affectionate pets and a treat for his trouble. The man finally reaches for his coffee in a slow motion, makes a pleased sound when he takes his first sip.

“As much of a pain in the ass as you are, you’re a lifesaver sometimes,” Hideo expresses his content leaning back in his chair, relaxing bit by bit.

“That bad?”

“Could be worse, but yes. It’s been a mess here since the Parade and Clifford, will continue to be until whatever resolution there’ll be comes, I figure.”

“What do you think will happen?”

Hideo shrugs.

“I don’t know. I know Clifford will be found guilty of, at least, kidnapping and corporative crimes, but what happened to you and Dr. Laurent, and what he tried to do with the city, that’s more difficult to typify,” the Lieutenant lists as he massages his temples with his hand, his right arm resting across his chest. “And he’s an old man – an old, disabled, _rich_ man. My best guess is he’ll be given domiciliary arrest. Have you spoken with your lawyer?”

“Yeah, a couple of times.” He takes a pastry for himself, nudges the box to the other man again until he gets an eyeroll and Hideo reluctantly leans forward again. “She’s been giving me some space, but we’ll meet on Monday now that I’m on the clear.”

“And have you though about what charges do you want to press?”

It’s Harry’s turn to roll his eyes. Count on Hideo to have the moment to relax and bitch about work and he’ll do the opposite.

“Of course I have, but I’m not here to discuss this with you, you know.”

“I know, but you can.” He shrugs when he gets a dubious look. “I’m not working the case, _you_ _know_.”

That… is unexpected.

“Why not?”

“I have my reasons,” Hideo dismisses.

Harry plans not to think about it for the foreseeable future.

“So, is there _anything_ I can help with?”

“What about missing Pokémon?”

They spend the next half-an-hour or so working on the disappearances of an Alakazam and a Gallade, going over the file as they finish their coffee and enjoy their sugary treats, Pikachu and Snubbull playing around them, sometimes reaching to them for pets and scratches.

3

He remembers meeting Hideo during his first or second month in Ryme City and not thinking much of the guy. If he’s honest, he didn’t think much of anything back then, except Tyra, and Tim, _Tim, Tim_ -

The Lieutenant then had been a strict and strong presence named Reyes – not Danielle, not Dan or Danny or ma’am, just Reyes, even now, Lieutenant if they were being formal. She gave him three months to get his shit together, materially speaking, then reassured him that if he ever needed time or space, or if anything happened to Tim, he should tell her, and they’d work it out. He admired and feared that woman, with her greying black mane, and her stylish outfits, and her heels that could be used to stab someone, probably. As a Lieutenant, Hideo’s more distant; as a person, he’s far warmer; they both care, immensely.

Harry didn’t really pay attention to the other Detective until a few months later though, a cold and cloudy winter afternoon when they found themselves in a trashed living room, looking for clues of a young woman’s missing husband’s whereabouts. He stood there, in the middle of the room where a wooden coffee table, now upturned and cracked by a corner, used to be and looked around himself feeling a little in over his head.

“Fuck,” he’d thought, and too late did he realize he’d said it too.

The few techies milling about didn’t even seem to notice his earnest little outburst, but Hideo – Yoshida back then, because he had _some_ manners –, who’d been standing close enough, had turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

“Something the matter?”

Harry had turned to look back at him and he’d answered, just a tad panicked and maybe too honest, “I’ve never dealt with a possible kidnapping before.”

Hideo had gone a bit soft, a bit gentle at that.

“Let’s hope it stays a kidnapping and nothing worse, and do our jobs, yes?”

By the end of that case, a ransom which ended with the man back with his wife, safe and sound, and the idiot kidnappers with a concussion or two, he’d decided Hideo was someone he wanted to be friends with.

The man was well-mannered, calm, kind and supportive, but was also quick and didn’t take any of his bullshit without giving some back. The nice voice and the good looks and the – probably expensive – long, billowy coats didn’t hurt either.

Still, resolutions meant little when they were both busy as hell with work and, in Harry’s case, a newly acquired Pokémon partner in the shape of an overzealous Pichu. When he crossed paths with Hideo again, drinking some much needed coffee in one of the Precinct’s many breakrooms, they tiredly acknowledged each other and went back to their coffee cups and sandwiches, the other man stealing short glances at Pichu’s head popping out of the sling across Harry’s chest.

“May I?” The other man had said as he’d approached them, and as much as Harry was still lost on Ryme City’s Pokémon etiquette, he knew well Hideo was asking Pichu and not him.

Hideo’d let Pichu see him get closer, sniff his hand, and only then he’d reached out and gently scratched the spot where the Pokémon’s chin met neck, the tiny critter letting out a sound of content. Hideo’s Snubbull, which had consistently ignored Harry until then, had waddled towards them and huffed when he realized he was far from eye level with whatever had made the sound in the first place.

Not wanting to offend the Pokémon, Harry’d carefully knelt and let him meet Pichu, all under Hideo’s intense gaze. Snubbull had stared at Pichu with immense eyes, nosing and cooing at the bundle, to Pichu’s delight. The other Pokémon had then looked at Harry straight in the eyes, frowning severely, and _huffed_ at him, making the other Detective laugh.

“He doesn’t like me much, huh?”

“Oh, he will, don’t worry.”

Nowadays, Snubbull does like him, and only huffs at him when he wants scratches. And sometimes, only sometimes, when Hideo and he get into an argument. _Sometimes_.

“I’ve told you already, I’m fine,” he half shouts from inside the bathroom, trying to get a good look at the scratches at the back of his right arm in the mirror, and he hears Hideo grunt back at him from the other side of the locked door.

“You always say you’re fine and then you turn up with a concussion or a torn ligament or a dozen other injuries. Open the door and let me take a look.”

Harry rolls his eyes, half amused, but also half annoyed already.

“You just wanna drag me to the hospital, Hideo.”

“I want to know if I _have_ to drag you to the hospital.”

“ _I’m fine_.”

There’s a loud sigh and the sound of footsteps, and Harry can see him with his mind’s eye, pacing in his living room, hands on his hips and looking up at the sky beyond his ceiling and Ms. Chan’s apartment as if asking for divine guidance, or patience. He can hear Pikachu whining and scratching at the door and Snubbull shuffling about and huffing in reflection to his partner’s growing distress.

“Harry, plea–,” Hideo’s interrupted by the sudden jingle of keys coming from the apartment’s door, its swing and slight bump against the doorstop followed by a brief silence and then a tiny, insecure “psyduck”.

“Tim, hi,” Hideo recovers first but doesn’t move from his spot by the bathroom door.

“Um, hi, Lieutenant, uh,” there’s a pause there, Tim caught off guard, probably trying to figure out what Hideo’s doing where he is.

“And you must be Lucy,” his friend moves then, a few, grudging steps, holding his right hand to greet the girl, he knows. “Harry’s told me about you.”

“Hopefully good things?” He can hear Lucy’s boots then, meeting Hideo halfway, chipper and fast thinking as always.

“Only good things, believe me,” and oh, that asshole can be charming. He wants to laugh, Lucy sure does.

“Um, I don’t want to sound rude or anything, but why are you here?”

“Don’t say it, don’t you say it, Hideo!”

There’s a beat of silence and Harry really should know better than to believe Hideo would listen to him for once.

“He’s been a pain in the ass because he got scratched up by a Zangoose.”

“ _Goddammit_ ,” he says just as he hears a twin “what?” coming from the kids and a drawn-out whine from Pikachu, still at the door.

The click of the lock is the only warning he gets, but Pikachu’s bolting into the bathroom as soon as the door opens an inch. He stands there, half a step into the hallway and only wearing a tank top and his jeans in the cold air of early winter, and points the bloody cloth in his hand to Hideo.

“You, menace, get in here and help me before I lose all of my dignity,” he turns to his son and Lucy as Hideo, rolling his shirtsleeves up, walks into the small room, muttering something about Harry never having any dignity in the first place. “Hi, Tim, welcome back. Lucy, always a pleasure, make yourself at home.”

“Hi, Harry,” Lucy adds, cheerful if a bit dubious, and Tim just stands there and stares at the cloth before something that sounds a lot like Pikachu’s whining from before escapes him. “You go with them,” he can hear the girl say as he turns back into the bathroom sink and hands over the cloth to Hideo, who makes quick work of cleaning the blood off his arm before disinfecting the long, thin cuts with rubbing alcohol.

“What happened?” Tim asks, concerned, as he looks from the doorway.

“Your father tried to be a hero, as usual,” Hideo beats him, enjoys trash talking him in his own presence as always.

“I was trying to stop a fight, in the middle of a crowded street, from turning into a _tragedy_.”

Hideo gives him a sour look through the mirror.

“Because our own Pokémon couldn’t do that.”

He sputters.

“What? No! Of course not! They’re the size of babies compared to a Zangoose, or a Chesnaught!”

Hideo stops and stares at him through the mirror right to his eyes and oh, he’s _pissed_.

“There was an Infernape there, Harry, and who knows what the fuck else! You could’ve been burned, or poisoned, or electrocuted! I thought you were taking care of your idiotic self!”

Most of the time he gives up any fight in the face of Hideo’s uncanny anger. Today, cold and hurting and tired, he simply stares at the man’s face in shame and lets his shoulders sag.

“Okay, okay,” Tim cuts them off, a little panicked, “my dad’s a reckless idiot, we all know that, could you, please, overlook it for a moment? Because I’m, like, one drop of blood from dragging him to the hospital, I swear.”

The Lieutenant sighs for what must the tenth time in half an hour, lets the anger and frustration drop to the back of his mind and gets back to work on Harry’s arm. He covers most of his arm with bandages, makes sure they’re securely in place before letting Harry go to his room and change into clean clothes. When he comes back out, he immediately spots Tim and Hideo sitting by the kitchen, talking quietly, and no trace of Lucy. He figures it’s Hideo’s overdue apology, so he steers away and makes for the couch instead, Pikachu and Snubbull trailing behind him and taking their places on each side of him, keeping close to him.

When they’re done, Hideo grips Tim’s shoulder in a paternal gesture he uses with his nieces and they make their way to Harry, who’s given his own steaming coffee mug.

“Lucy made it, I’ll be with her in my room,” Tim tells him while Hideo sits next to Snubbull, who half crawls into his laps. “Are you sure you’re ok? Lucy won’t mind driving us to the hospital, you know?”

“I’m fine, kid, really. And tell Lucy I say thanks, this coffee smells wonderful, I don’t know what she did to it.”

“Sure. Let me know if you stop feeling fine, ‘k?

Harry nods and Tim goes to his room and now he’s alone – sort of – with a most certainly still pissed Hideo. He sips his coffee and boy does it taste _good_.

“I’m sorry about everything, Hideo,” he angles his upper body towards the man. “I really am. It’s not like I want to get hurt either, you know? And the hospital thing…”

“I know, I know,” Hideo leans back on the leather backrest and breaths heavily, his own coffee mug half empty. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you either, especially not with Tim and Lucy here.”

He shrugs.

“You’ve known me almost as long as Tim has, if I’m honest with you, and Lucy’s a bit like you in that way, I’ve figured, so I guess she won’t care. And you were in right, you know, I was pretty stupid.”

“You just have to save and protect anyone under the sun,” Hideo, his dearest friend, the man he’s fairly certain he’s completely and utterly in love with, looks at him with haunted, hurt eyes and it breaks him, but maybe not enough.

“I’ve gotta try, right?”

They sit there, quietly drinking their coffee, for a long time, long after their cups are empty, and the day gives way to night. They’d probably sit there ‘til the next day, if Tim and Lucy didn’t find them there, sitting in the dark, shrouded in mystery, and Lucy offers Hideo and Snubbull a ride home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had thought about posting this after at least starting the following chapter, but I'm in an exceptional good mood, even if I'm starting to get splitting headache.  
> Thank you all who left kudos and comments on the previous chapter! Your support is very apreciated, yes it is.  
> Also, I love cubone, always have, so I don't care if I'm giving him more credit than I should with the couch thing, baby deserves credit.


	3. Chapter 3

4

The next couple of weeks are very busy.

Between catching up with paperwork, helping Tim with both Cubone and studying, and meeting with his lawyer for the whole Clifford mess, he only takes a small missing Pokémon case, which leaves little time to do anything besides eat, sleep and _shit_. He hardly sees Hideo, even at the Precinct.

It’s a good thing, he tries to tell himself. He’s been caught off guard with one thing after another this past couple of months, been standing on shaky legs, and he needs time to think, about what happened to him, about Tim, about _Hideo_. Sure, running around from one meeting to another to a location, isn’t exactly ideal for that, but sometimes he does his best thinking when he’s peaceful and quiet in his car, driving from one corner of the city to another.

Good thinking, such as: “What the heck do I want?”

 _Hideo_.

“But I’ve always wanted him and I still gave him up, what changed?”

 _You died_.

Except he didn’t and now he’s here, wondering what to do, what to feel. Would he still be in this position, if Clifford and Mewtwo and the Parade hadn’t happened? Maybe, or maybe not, it doesn’t change the fact that he _is_ in this situation: messing up what was a hard, but in the end good, break up. At least for himself, because there’s no way in _Hell_ he’s telling Hideo any of this. Even if he _wants_ to.

There aren’t many rules or lines Harry isn’t willing to break or cross when the situation calls for it, but the thing of the matter is that the situation _does_ _not_ call for it. He loves Hideo, yes; he misses Hideo, double yes; he would love to have a second chance and spend the rest of his life next to Hideo, _absolutely_. But he’s already hurt the man once, badly, and at this point Hideo must’ve moved on, it’s been over a _year_ , he’s probably seen – maybe even _is_ seeing – someone by now, and just hasn’t told Harry because a) Harry’s his friend but he’s also a recent ex and that could be awkward, and b) _Harry died_.

So, what can he do? Nothing. And what will he do? Probably act weird for a while before he gets back on his feet, but ultimately _nothing_.

“That’s right,” he says aloud in the middle of his kitchen, flannel pajamas and hair sticking up everywhere and eyes maybe a little too wild behind his glasses. “I will leave Hideo alone, I won’t bother him with any of my shit, and we’ll just keep bein’ friends, right, Pikachu?”

“Pika!” The Pokémon cheerfully exclaims from the counter where he’s munching on raspberries, oblivious to his partner’s distress.

“Sorry, what was that?” Tim asks from the door of his room, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Cubone’s nowhere in sight, so he’s probably still sleeping in his _cave_ under Tim’s bed.

“Nothin’, just thinkin’ aloud,” Harry’s quick to answer and offer Tim his own cup of coffee. “How did it go last night? Did Lucy get herself a new source?”

Tim’s thing with Lucy is so obvious, it’s kinda painful to know they’re not acting on it. Sure, he’s got this thing with Hideo, but he did act on it, regardless of the outcome, and he used to be married, so, he’s gotten _some_ things right. Tim and Lucy on the other hand, have been dancing around each other for _almost a month_.

But he’ll keep his mouth shut on this, because he doesn’t think he has any right to intrude on it, even if he has good intentions. If Tim wants to talk about it then so be it, in the meantime, he’ll enjoy the somewhat concerning tales of their adventures as Tim still has some time to run around helping Lucy with her stories.

Unsurprisingly, things get more complicated from there.

The small missing Pokémon case blows up, quite literally, on his face (and Tim’s and Pikachu’s) in the shape of a stun grenade. Cubone, still inside the car, is the only one unaffected by it, which isn’t half bad for their instant retreat, Harry carrying Pikachu like a football ball under his arm and Tim dragging a Gardevoir with him.

Driving out of the industrial area, half blinded, with whining Pokémon in the back of the car and people chasing them, is nightmarish, but then again, it could be worse, what with midnight nearing and the empty streets. If he crashes the car it’s gonna be either against the criminal assholes or against the scenery. _Fuck_ , he really doesn’t wanna crash against anything, he doesn’t want to have a car accident a month from now on. He doesn’t want to have a car accident ever again, period, even less with Tim there.

It’s almost an hour later when he deems the coast clear and parks by a residential area.

“Is everyone okay?” He asks as he turns to take a look at everyone. Tim’s a little wide eyed and clutching the door handle maybe a bit too hard, but he nods anyway, Pikachu’s whining a bit, half hidden between Cubone and the backrest of the seats, and the Gardevoir seems… ruffled? It’s the third time he’s met one so he’s not exactly good at judging them, but either way she seems fine.

He opens the window to let some of the cool autumn air in, takes a deep breath and calls Hideo. He calls Hideo because if he calls the Captain then he’s gonna get chewed alive and he needs help right now. Admittedly, Hideo’s gonna kill him anyway, because he took Tim with him, put him in danger, but hopefully he’ll help him first, and he has more chances of finding Hideo awake at this hour anyway.

“Harry?” Hideo answers after the fourth or fifth ring and he doesn’t sound like he’s been woken up, but he does sound concerned, a little alarmed, and shit, Harry’s so dead after this whole mess is over.

“Hi, sorry, but I kinda need your help.”

They meet a couple of blocks away from the Precinct: the Lieutenant’s wearing grey pants, a white shirt over a gray t-shirt that peeks from the collar and a marengo jacket, one of his casual outfits that make him look like a teacher or a professor and suit him so nicely. Hideo takes the Gardevoir from there, not before asking Tim how he’s holding up and shooting Harry a disapproving glare.

“Take him home, Harry, and call me if anything else comes up.”

Harry does take the kid home; he must go there to get his research and find out where the crooks will be next anyway. However, he doesn’t wake Tim up like he’d promised by the time he figures it out. Instead he calls Hideo really quick as he makes his way to his car, Pikachu in toe, to tell him where he’s going and send a patrol there in case he’s right.

Which he _is_ , the assholes from before amongst a crowd of many other assholes, all carrying boxes or towing confined Pokémon, loading them into trucks. There isn’t much time before they’ll be gone, which is why he loves Hideo all the more when the man himself shows up with more than just the one police patrol. What follows is pretty darn chaotic, and Harry might be a bit too tired to follow any of it, so he makes the conscious decision to stay behind and leave things in Hideo’s hands, something the man seems to understand as he takes a moment to nod at him before marching on. He feels a flash of panic course through him, a queasiness, memory of a time not so long ago when he was convinced every time he saw Hideo walk away would be the last time. Funny thing, since the one who almost – technically – died turned out to be himself.

Later, when the sun’s starting to rise, they’re sitting on a booth near the back of a 24/7 diner near the Precinct, eating waffles and drinking copious amounts of coffee before they get back to work on finding every Pokémon’s human partners for another couple of hours before others take it from there.

“I’m really sorry about dragging you into this, Hideo, I guess I kinda panicked,” he apologizes after his second cup of coffee, already feeling a little more alive. His phone pings with an oncoming message from Tim, who’d woken up a while ago and has been harassing him with questions on how he is, how he feels, if Hideo’s okay too; it’s sweet, Tim’s a sweet kid and _he_ had nothing to do with it.

He drinks more coffee.

“It’s fine,” Hideo says, even as he looks like he’ll eventually stretch enough to lean his head in the back of his seat and fall asleep right there. “You owe me one, though,” he adds with a tired yet warm smile.

“Does paying for the food count, or you were thinking of something else?”

Harry considers asking for a second refill, but Hideo snatches his cup from the table before he can do anything. He tries to convey betrayal with his face as best he can and must fail spectacularly if Hideo’s outburst of laughter is any indication. It sure wakes Pikachu and Snubbull up, curled in the seats next to them, and he decides to leave right then, before his friend has any other chances to laugh at him in public and do terrible, terrible things to his weak little heart.

“Next time you do something like that,” Hideo starts as they make their way back to work, paper cups filled with more warm life sustenance, “you should probably let me now in advance, so I know not to make any plans.”

It’s an old jibe at him and his lack of predictability, but there’s something in the way Hideo says it…

“Shit, you were in the middle of something?”

Hideo shrugs.

“ _Something_ like that.”

“Fuck, man, sorry, I didn’t–,” Hideo stops him with a gesture and an intense look before he goes on a tangent, a soft pang of what feels like longing battling against the breathlessness of having that look directed at him.

“Harry, stop apologizing. You called me because you needed help and I answered because I could give you it. I could have helped you through it in many other ways, but I decided to be there, and I did that for a reason.” Hideo finishes and breaths deeply, gives Harry the time to let that sink in before turning to resume walking, throwing a last, “besides, that man was boring as hell anyway,” accompanied by a meaningful, and impossible to misinterpret, look that leaves him rooted to the spot.

5

Later that day, he lies in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking he should be asleep by now as the sounds of the city mix with Tim’s and Lucy’s voices coming from the living room. There’s something a little world turning in receiving a look like the one he did from Hideo earlier, especially when it comes from someone you’re in love with, someone you have a history with.

Eventually he does fall asleep, because he’s so tired he could die, and when he does, it’s with the image of Hideo’s eyes – intense and burning – inside his head.

The rest of the week goes by a lot smoother, almost uneventful. He only has to deal with the paperwork concerning the traffickers and he meets his lawyer once more. The rest of his time is divided between another small – hopefully it will stay that way – case and Tim, who seems to be settling in just fine.

On Friday, Harry takes Tim to the library, a quiet place to start introducing Cubone to crowds. On Saturday, early in the morning, they take a walk by the nearby park, cross paths with the occasional jogger and with a couple whose little kids go starry eyed when they see the Pokémon; both Cubone and Pikachu get plenty of gentle pats before they can move again, and Cubone endures it very well, if timidly. On Sunday they go hiking, of all things, Lucy leading their little party with all the energy and enthusiasm of a scout leader, minus the patience; if she invites them again soon, he’ll pass, woah.

In the meantime, he thinks a lot about Hideo, which is why it feels kinda odd when Monday morning comes and there’s a text from the man inviting him – and Tim, if he wants – for lunch waiting for him. He accepts the offer after asking Tim, even if he feels a bit weird, like Hideo had caught him staring at him from across a crowded room.

By the time lunch comes around, he’s worked himself into an anxious bundle of twitchy energy, which he shouldn’t, really, this is Hideo. Who, by the way, is an absolute gentleman with Tim, greeting him affectionally without being overbearing, and asking him all manner of questions about his wellbeing and his experience in Ryme City so far, caring as usual.

Monday passes, as does Tuesday and Wednesday. Thursday, he has a meeting with his lawyer, one of the last few before Clifford’s trial begins, and after that he spends the rest of the afternoon lazing at home, watching horror movies with Tim.

Friday he wraps up yet another case with the help of Okumura and finally moves on to the sort of thing he loves to do: solving complex riddles, finding what doesn’t want to be found.

The first case flies by in less than a week, just there and gone. He finds the woman’s wife in the hands of an ill-willed third party and makes sure she’s alright when they get to the hospital before taking a step back and going to the Precinct to fill in his paperwork.

The following case… takes more effort.

It is, surprisingly – though maybe it shouldn’t be at this point –, a locked-room case, the first he’s ever known about, and a day later it’s starting to drive him into insanity with details and possibilities. It’s wonderful.

He lays everything he has on the case on the living room floor, like he knows he’d done while he’d

been a Pikachu, because sometimes it’s too much for a corkboard anyway.

Pikachu and Cubone watch him from their spots on the couch, Tim puttering in the kitchen, trying to make something edible for lunch. He’ll be working on this for a while, and if he’s learned anything is that Tim’s as stubborn and knowledge driven as he is, so he’ll have more company than a sleeping Pikachu for once.

He works slowly, meticulously through every forensics report, every picture, every witness account, Tim going through a fraction of the whole, but still making good work with the details. By the time his eyes start to burn a bit too much and he takes a break, the sun’s setting down and his stomach makes a sound of protest.

“So, take out?”

They order from a place a few blocks away, a Mom-and-Pop business that offers a delicious variety of noodles and is quickly becoming Tim’s favorite. They sit on the couch, quietly eating as they half-watch a news channel. He gets a text from Hideo asking how he’s doing and he replies with how this case is gonna put him in an early grave, which, in retrospect, is probably a cruel kinda joke. Hideo takes a long time to text back after that and Harry completely forgets about it, goes to make a pot of coffee in preparation for the long night ahead of him, _them_.

He finishes going through everything sometime after midnight, his vision going a bit blurry as he peeks at the clock in the kitchen, and Tim’s doing his own reading from the couch, a blanket half-covering him and their Pokémon.

“You can go to bed if you want,” he addresses his son for the first time in what must be an hour.

Tim drops his reading and stares at him for a moment, blinking owlishly at him, then shakes his head with vigor and stretches in his spot.

“And leave here on your own?”

Tim gets up, careful not to startle Pikachu and Cubone, heads to the kitchen and he can hear him making more coffee from his place in the floor. Harry probably shouldn’t have more coffee at this point, he’d drank maybe more than two thirds of the previous pot and he feels a bit twitchy, shaking his crossed legs and wringing his hands from time to time, but when the kid comes back and offers him a full, steaming mug, he latches onto it like he starves for it. Tim sits next to him then, making himself room amongst the paper.

“So, talk to me about it?”

Harry give him a questioning look.

“Do you mean the case or the process of working a case?”

Tim sips his own coffee, then shrugs.

“Whichever you want, though I guess the case takes priority right now?”

Harry tries to go about it in as pedagogic a way as he can, which is to say, probably not very. But Tim is patient and attentive and asks questions when he doesn’t fully understand, and boy, he grew up just fine without Harry didn’t he?

That makes him a little gloomy and he does his best not to show it, lest Tim catches on and thinks there’s something… not quite _wrong_ , though that’s what it will seem like.

Over an hour later they’re going through a witness account when there’s a sudden knock on the door. They stop and stare at it dumbly until Pikachu sleepily makes his way there and starts sniffing and pawing at it, which means…

When Harry opens the door, mug still in hand and eyes wide behind his glasses, he finds himself face to face with a tired, ragged Hideo, dressed with his usual three piece suit and coat combo, though the tie’s nowhere in sight and there are many unbuttoned, uh, buttons. Man, he’s so tired and dumb right now, he can’t deal with _this_.

“Uh, hi?”

Hideo raises an eyebrow, judging, and Snubbull huffs as he makes his way inside to go and see Pikachu and Cubone.

“Good _night_ ,” Hideo greets him with the full force of his disappointment. “Mind if I come in?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Harry does his best to keep his mouth shut as he lets the man in and locks his door again, knowing full well he’ll start rambling any second now. “Uh, why are you here though?”

“I had a hunch,” Hideo then heads for the living room where he warmly greets Tim and takes a critical look at the display on the floor.

Hideo’s known him long and well enough to not only recognize this but having participated in something like this at one point or another as well, so he dismisses it easily enough, too tired to add to it. Harry takes a sip of his coffee as he watches Hideo interacting with Tim and the Pokémon.

“Did you come from work?”

“Yes, there was something of an emergency.”

Harry takes another sip, not sure what to say next, and Hideo gives him a pointed look.

“How much coffee have you drank?”

“Uh…”

“A whole pot, I think,” Tim supplies from the floor, the traitor.

The Lieutenant sighs the kind of sigh that comes from someone who’s spent most of his patience during the day and doesn’t want to deal with any more bullshit, regardless of whose bullshit it is.

“Harry, you’re supposed to take care of yourself, remember?”

He fidgets.

“I’m fine, we’re fine,” he fast-talks, partly because he wants to get the message across before Hideo interrupts him, mostly because he’s too caffeinated, too high-strung, his heart beating fast and his brain going faster. It’s a good thing he doesn’t take his coffee with sugar, he guesses. “We’re right at home, reading and talking, nothing could go wrong.”

“Except maybe a dozen things.”

Harry raises his hand, makes the motion to drink from his mug, all in a nervous spur, but his lips and the ceramic never meet, Hideo grabbing his wrist with one hand and taking the mug from him with the other in swift moves. The man drinks the whole thing then, more than half a mug of black coffee gone in three large gulps. He stares, mind gone blank, and a still active corner of his brain that isn’t fixated on Hideo’s Adam apple notices Tim staring at them.

“There,” his friend hands him the mug with a shaky voice. “Now go take a shower, you _smell_ , and then go to sleep, I don’t really want to know how many hours you’ve been up.”

“Too many,” Tim says as he gets up and takes the empty mug from him, walks to the kitchen where he washes them.

Harry stands there, feeling betrayed at the sudden teaming up between the two men.

“Hideo, I’m fine.”

The other man’s eyes go softer and he reaches out with a hand, squeezes Harry’s shoulder gently.

“And _before_ I wouldn’t have said a thing, I might’ve given you a hand too, but after the accident and Mewtwo… you have to understand, Harry, we worry about you, we want you to be _fine_ , but we just don’t know.”

The little resolve he had crumbles then, but he doesn’t have to be happy about it, so he grumbles his whole way to his room and then to the bathroom, Hideo keeping an amused eye on him from where he’s leaning against the back of the couch.

He feels a lot better by the time he emerges from the bathroom, more relaxed, and he finds most of the lights off and Hideo stretched back on his couch with his eyes closed, though he knows he’s not sleeping. He’s too tired to stop himself from staring, or from letting his mouth run wild.

“You should stay here, for tonight, I mean.”

Hideo opens his eyes and turns to look at him, faintly surprised.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Harry shrugs.

“We’re not gonna do anything, Hideo, just sleep. I don’t want _you_ to have a car accident, they’re not good for your health, believe me.”

Harry snickers, unable to stop himself, and Hideo snorts, a little derisive.

“Fine,” the man stands up and stops right in front of him, the two of them almost the same height.

They look at each other for a moment, just look. Harry’s missed this, this easiness that comes from just being with Hideo, with his calm and warmth, not in the way they are when they’re in public, always more reserved and more playful. Hideo was always good at slowing him down after a long, eventful day, and that doesn’t seem to have changed.

“You want the usual clothes, or can I tempt you with a new model?”

His friend snickers lightly, starts pulling his coat as they walk to the bedroom.

“Just do me the favor of keeping your cold toes away from me.”

He knows at some point, right before dawn he thinks seeing the very soft light coming from the window, he wakes up, startled, his breath quick and desperate.

“Bad dreams?” Hideo asks after a beat, voice muffled and sleepy. He turned towards Harry at some point, but his face is half-buried in the pillow and his one visible eye is still closed and it’s such a familiar sight he feels lost in the past for a moment.

“Yeah.”

They move together, without thinking: Harry turns to lie on his side and Hideo scoots closer, the two of them chest to chest now, and Hideo’s arm sneaks around his chest, his ribs, until the man’s hand rests in that spot where neck becomes back, Harry holding on to him as his breathing slows down; the gentle kiss he receives on his temple is the cherry on top of the cake.

“It’s okay, I’m right here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I could write this," I thought. "It'll be short," I thought. "What could go wrong?" Well, this one chapter's almost as long as the previous two combined akjskajs And it's still non-beta-read jskaj  
> The final chapter shouldn't be anywhere this long ("shouldn't" being keyword here), but I have no idea when I'l have it ready.  
> Hope you enjoyed.  
> P.S.: I hadn't meant to leave this where I did, like, I just wrote that last sentence and though a huge ass YES, and I loved it?


	4. Chapter 4

+1

“What is it with you and Lieutenant Yoshida?”

The morning after the whole locked-room case, coffee induced crisis, he’d woken up with an empty, but clearly slept on, bed. He’d found a note by his alarm clock, old-fashioned, in Hideo’s neat and thin handwriting: he’d been called for an ongoing case and he’d given up on waking Harry up after receiving only a sleepy grunt for his trouble. He has no missing calls or texts from either Hideo or the Precinct, and he’s not expected to show up until later, so he takes his sweet time getting out of bed and making his way towards the kitchen where Tim, already clothed and feeding the little critters, drops the question he knew would come.

“What do you mean?”

He doesn’t ask in a bid to escape the subject, rather, he wants to be sure they’re talking about the same thing here and get his head right before answering anything.

“I mean –,” Tim stops with an awkward grimace. “I mean, I know there’s something going on with you two, you’re close and you trust each other, and friends do that, but also there’s more, right? You’re very intimate and comfortable around each other, I guess? Like last night, when he sent you to bed.”

Harry sputters.

“He didn’t send me to bed!”

“Yeah, he kinda did, dad.”

A beat of silence.

“Alright, he did. But that’s not the point!”

Tim shrugs and hands him a mug filled with steaming coffee.

“Thanks, kid.”

“Sure. You know, you don’t have to answer me if you don’t want to.”

Harry shakes his head, takes a sip from his mug and feels himself coming back to life.

“It’s not that, I’m just thinking how to answer.”

Back when he realized Tim was there to stay instead of a trauma induced sort of hallucination, he’d made the executive decision that whatever Tim wanted to know about him, Harry would provide, never mind how awkward or painful the subject might be. He just never prepared for any of the questions he assumed would come. Terrible foresight, the bane of his existence.

“Well, I can’t think of another way to go about it other than blunt, so, uh,” he scratches his neck, not exactly ashamed because he never would be, but maybe uncomfortable. “Hideo and I dated,” Tim’s eyes go a bit wide at that, but he nods at him in an encouraging way, “for year and a half. Uh, we were partners, or lovers, not boyfriends because we thought it sounded too young for us, but we were serious about it, which is what matters. I broke it off, about a year ago.”

Tim’s eyebrows go high into his forehead.

“Why?”

“That is a bit more complicated,” Harry sighs, “but only because I made it complicated.”

“Okay, let’s start from the beginning, please?”

They sit on the couch with their coffee and some toast and he tells Tim everything, or well, not _everything_ , he sure doesn’t tell him about how Hideo and he first approached each other outside a bar’s bathroom, half-drunk and very horny, because that’s not the sort of thing you tell your kid, never mind he’s an adult himself, Harry knows that much about being a parent at least.

He does tell Tim about their first proper date, dinner at a fancy restaurant, courtesy of Hideo, who hadn’t needed to impress him, but had wanted to treat him to something nice; and then their second date, a picnic sort of date in a market that sets up just outside of Ryme City during spring and summer. And how there’d been many, many dates after that and how lovely it’d been to fall into bed next to Hideo and go out like a light after a long day, like he belonged there, even if Hideo sometimes snores terribly. He tells Tim about Hideo’s gentle understanding and Harry’s own excitement at entering something new, how wonderful it’d been. Until it wasn’t.

“I wasn’t thinking straight, I know that, okay? But when I saw him at the hospital then, I sort of lost it.”

He knows that his reasoning was– _is_ weak at best, but it was true.

Hideo and Snubbull had found themselves face to face with a pair of idiots, and their Pokémon,  attempting to abduct a woman’s Mega Ampharos by an alley, and as much as a stickler for rules and procedures as Hideo has always been, he’d seen himself in the need to act before backup arrived, lest the idiots managed to get away with it. Acting, in that case, meant mostly stalling in any possible way, which resulted, logically, in both Hideo and Snubbull coming out of it with extensive injuries, none of them too bad, though the case could be made for the man’s broken arm. It wasn’t the broken arm or the scratches adorning the side of Hideo’s face that sent Harry into a panic. If he was honest, he couldn’t say that it was any specific thing that had done it for him, but after a year he could admit that seeing Hideo lying in a hospital bed, his slightly tanned skin looking a bit too pale for his own comfort, had played a significant role in the decisions he’d made afterwards.

“So, you just left him?”

Tim sounds, and looks, judgmental and probably upset on Hideo’s behalf, which makes Harry particularly proud, even if the subject of Tim’s scorn is himself.

“I know, I know, second worst decision I’ve made in my life. And I know I hurt him, we even had a long conversation about that a few months ago. It’s just that –,” Harry stops for a moment, making a helpless gesture with one of his hands, “when I saw him there a part of me couldn’t stop thinking about Tyra, you know?”

Tim inhales sharply next to him, eyes suddenly blown wide, but he’s not shouting or throwing insults at him, so he pushes forward.

“I know you know how much it hurt to lose your mother, because you felt it too, so maybe you can understand what I felt then. When I saw Hideo there I felt like I did every time I saw Tyra in the hospital, fighting a lost battle, and I just thought I couldn’t do that again, I couldn’t go through the pain of losing someone I loved that way again, I’d break, maybe too much. So, I took the coward’s way out.”

They stay quiet, drinking their coffee and eating their toast, for a long time, until they finish their breakfast and Tim finally speaks up.

“Thank you for telling me all of this, and I’m sorry about it, what happened and how you felt, it must’ve been rough. Is it alright if we talk about it again?”

“Sure thing, kid.”

The next couple of days he devotes almost entirely to the locked-room case until he’s exhausted and more than a little grouchy, so he drops everything, storms out of the apartment and towards the nearest park with Pikachu and, in an spontaneous fit, calls Hideo and Tim and invites them both to dinner. His son timidly asks if he could invite Lucy, he’d pay for her food and all, and Harry excitedly tells him what a great idea that is. Dinner goes better than smoothly, with good food, good conversation and the tiny devils going about their devilish ways until their food arrives too. Long after they’ve finished eating and the sun has gone down, they walk Lucy to her car and she offers Hideo a ride home once again; Tim and Harry take the bus, head almost straight to their beds as soon as they make it to the apartment, both of them so tired they almost fall sleep on the ride there.

The next morning is shaping up quite a lot like the one from a few days before, with Tim, looking fresh as a lettuce, waiting for him in the kitchen with coffee and a question at the ready.

“Have you thought about talking about it with him?”

Harry looks at Tim from atop the rim of his cup.

“Talk about _what_ with _whom_?”

Tim gives him an eyeroll and he looks so much like Tyra at that moment, it’s painful. Sure, it’s been years, and Hideo’s smack dab between _Tyra_ and _now_ , this man he loves so much it hurts, but none of that will erase the pain of losing someone he loved, someone who mattered so much to him, who should’ve been alive to see the wonderful man their son had become.

“Lieutenant Yoshida? This thing between you two?”

Harry raises his eyebrows at Tim as he munches on his toast, though it’s mostly for show. It doesn’t escape him that the kid said, “ _have you thought about talking with him_ ”, specifically, instead of the hundred variations with wildly different connotations he could’ve used.

“Not really.”

“Why not?”

“You mean, why haven’t I talked with Hideo, the man I hurt, about all these feelings I still have for him?”

Tim hums and narrows his eyes at him, sips his coffee.

“Ok, so, when you put it like that, it makes you look like a douche,” to which Harry nods emphatically, “but that’s because you’re missing the point, and probably finesse, too.”

It’s Harry who narrows his eyes at his son now.

“The _point_? What _point_?”

Tim falls into a stunned silence for long enough to make Harry jittery, not that _that_ takes much.

“What _point_ , Tim?”

“You’re telling me, you’re the best detective this city has to offer, and you don’t see it?”

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you, kid. I’ve been told I’m a reckless idiot by a lot of people before.”

His own son gives him the most unimpressed, bemused look a twenty-something could muster.

“Right,” he finishes his coffee with one gulp before turning towards the sink. “So, I’d worked on this illusion that you and the Lieutenant were, like, meant to be, but now I’m starting to think maybe he deserves better.”

Which, ow, low blow, and Harry’s about to protest, not angry, but certainly hurt, except Tim’s turning to him again and _that_ smile, that smile he knows like the back of his hand. This mischievous little shit is _making_ _fun_ of him just like he’d done when he was 10 and he’d team up with Tyra to make him miserable, huh.

Harry rolls his eyes, lets him know that _he_ knows, no harm, no foul.

“Sure thing, kid.”

Tim stares at him as Harry finishes his own breakfast. It used to give him the heebie-jeebies, at first, the way Tim would just _stare_ at him, half like he couldn’t believe Harry, his father, was there, but also half like bacteria under a microscope, something unknown and new. Now, with a couple of months behind them, he hardly notices it anymore.

“I’m not entirely sure I should tell you this, now,” Tim starts once he’s done eating, “but I dunno, I believe you two should at least talk about it, and I don’t think Yoshida’s gonna make the first move so, there’s that.” He hesitates for just another moment. “I just, saw you two, last night, watched you, a lot, and, um, I think he still has feelings for you too?”

And that? That feels like a punch in the gut, a punch thrown by a Machamp.

“ _What_ ,” he asks, except it doesn’t sound like a question and his voice sort of wavers, and, boy, he wasn’t expecting this when he got out of bed less than half an hour ago.

“Ok, but, um,” Tim adds hurriedly. “I’m not saying that he’s, like, still in love with you? Because I don’t know how that looks like, sort of speak, I don’t know him enough to go and say that, I’m just pretty sure he feels _something_ for you?”

Tim takes a deep breath and they’re still staring at each other, maybe a little shaky, certainly shaken on his side.

“What I mean is, nobody who looks at you like that can’t possibly not _feel_ something for you, ok?”

“Look like _what_?”

The kid makes a face, thoughtful.

“I guess, like the way I know I look at Lucy, but stronger.”

Oh, that’s. _Oh_.

It’s the first time either one of them have mentioned this thing with Tim and Lucy in any meaningful way, but he knows right away what sort of look Tim’s talking about and that’s. That’s something. And if he’s right, which he has to admit it’s a 50/50 scenario, he also knows what look Tim’s talking about in regards to Hideo, because he’d seen it, so many times he can see it in his mind, every detail of it, right then.

“ _Oh_ ,” he says, with feeling, and it’s a good thing he’s already sitting.

Tim’s nervous, he can tell, and he doesn’t blame him, Harry’s nervous too, and elated, and shocked, and maybe a little confused, because he’s still an idiot. He tries to blink the shock away, at least for a moment; they still have a long day ahead of them and they need to get ready for it.

“Thank for telling me, Tim,” he finally says, bouncing his leg a little. “I understand why you feel like you shouldn’t’ve told me, but I am thankful you did.”

Tim nods.

“Sure, dad. Um, if you don’t mind my asking, what do you think you’ll do?”

Harry mulls over it as he washes his dishes.

“I’m not sure, I’ll have to think about it.”

And it proves difficult, though not impossible, not to think about it. He goes about his morning business and drinking coffee and meeting coworkers with it in the back of his head, a constant, humming _Hideo_ , _Hideo_ , _Hideo_ , and he has to make a conscious effort to not let it get in the way of things when he meets the man in question to discuss his case, something they hadn’t talked about the night before because dinner was not meant for work talk, they had decided a long time ago.

He’s familiar with this, he tries to tell himself as he leaves Hideo’s office and nearly bursts a blood vessel with the strength it takes not to turn around and try to catch Hideo looking at him. He’s familiar with it and he’d gone through worse, those first few weeks when _they_ were new and all he’d wanted to do was eat Hideo up 24/7, push him against any surface and never ever let him go like a hormonal teenager. He’s familiar with it, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

The following day he takes a pair of rookies and uses his office for the fourth or fifth time this year, hoping against hope that any pair of new eyes could shed some new light in this nightmarish case. They don’t, though Kaplan, lovely girl, reorganizes most of his folders in a more comprehensible manner. Hideo, because of course, offers him a ride home, and Harry, messed up with all the coffee coursing through his veins, making him reckless and maybe more stupid than usual, blurts: “Why don’t we go to your place?”

Hideo’s eyebrows jump all the way into his forehead and Harry’s eyes go so wide he’s sure they’re bulging behind his glasses; he’s not sure what the rest of his face’s doing, if he’s blushing or paling like a corpse, but it’s doing something, because the corner of Hideo’s mouth twitches in an amused half smile.

“And why would we?”

It’s not rejection, which is far more than his addled brain was expecting. His poor addled brain that can’t stop itself at the best of times, even less with so little sleep and so much caffeine.

“Tim thinks we should talk, about _us_.”

Hideo nods, considering, and steps fully into Harry’s office, closes the door behind Snubbull. Harry’s still sitting, still holding a folder in front of him, but he doesn’t have the presence of mind to do anything with any of it.

“And what do you think?”

Again, no rejection, no denial. It shouldn’t mean anything, he shouldn’t think it means anything, but he knows Hideo, how he works through personal matters, so different from the hundred different ways he works as a detective.

They stare at each other and Harry takes his time, does his best to _think_ , for a moment.

“I think we could, talk about it. I dunno if we should, and I can’t force you into anything, obviously, but we could.”

Hideo nods again, looks through the window, breathes deeply, once, twice. Harry speaks again, because maybe he has to.

“I know I hurt you, Hideo. We talked about it and I know I’m not the best at listening, but I did it, I listened to you, but, uh, I think there’s new evidence?”

It’s such a dumb thing to say, he knows even before he says it, can’t really stop himself, but that’s fine, because Hideo snorts and gives him such a fond smile, the smile that says _you’re an idiot, but you’re my idiot_ and Harry maybe forgets to breath for a moment there.

“Alright, we’ll talk,” the man concedes, pushing himself from where he’d been leaning against the doorframe. “But not now, I’m tired and you look like death, and nothing good ever comes out of us in these conditions.”

Harry nods, a little like his head’s not attached to his neck, but he doesn’t really react much to any of it. Hideo gives him an eyeroll.

“Get you things, Harry, I’m driving you home.”

The following morning, after some much needed sleep, drinking coffee still in his pajamas and feeling like the conversation from last night was a wishful dream, he looks up to the windows when a shadow passes, maybe a Pidove, and he stares, and stares, his coffee growing cold and the toast in his hand halfway towards his mouth. His eyes go wide and wild, and then he starts moving, fast, like his life depends on it. He gets dressed and he only spares a moment to brush his teeth, because he’s willing to go without a shower but he’s not disgusting, thanks a lot. Pikachu follows him to the car, still rubbing sleep off his eyes, and then they’re off to the Precinct, toeing the speed limit.

The next twelve hours go by in a rush and hazy, he hardly eats and he drinks an awful lot of coffee, and when Hideo passes by at noon, he has to physically hold Harry down with his hands so he won’t bolt or bounce at supersonic speeds; his doctor’s going to kill if he doesn’t get a heart attack first.

But what really matters in the end, is that he cracks the case. He cracks the case, and the answer was so damn obvious he wants to kick himself. Instead, he leaves the arrest to whoever’s on shift tonight, lets Hideo drive him home again and crashes back to bed; he can deal with anything else tomorrow.

Which he does. The interrogations don’t go as such, with everyone involved wanting everything to be done and over with, giving him plenty of time to fill in his paperwork, and even have lunch with Tim. By the time afternoon rolls around, and the sun goes down, he can classify this case as a success, even if it did sort of drove him crazy for a moment there.

When he emerges from his office in the evening, a still energetic Pikachu in toe, he heads towards Hideo’s office instead of the garage. He knocks on the frame of the door, never on the glass, and enters as soon as he hears the Lieutenant’s “come in”.

The room is, as usual, dark as a cave, with the only light coming from the lamp at Hideo’s desk, under which the man is reading a document. He can hear Snubbull’s soft snoring from somewhere he can’t see and Pikachu darts around the desk and out of sight in search of his buddy. Hideo doesn’t look as tired as he had the previous days, so he feels alright about his chances today. Surely, the fact that he’s only had two cups of coffee today will help.

“Harry,” the Lieutenant greets him, taking his glasses off. “Congratulations on your case.”

“Thank you. How’s it going for you?”

“Just catching up on paperwork.”

Harry takes a seat in front of Hideo, gives the folders and loose, yet neatly organized, papers a glance.

“You been on it for a while, huh?”

“Too long for a _while_ , but yes.”

He makes a sympathetic grunt low in his throat.

“You should get a raise,” he quips, and Hideo gives him an eyeroll. “But since I have no say I the matter, will dinner suffice?”

They got to Shelley’s, one of Hideo’s favorites, and get a nice, discreet table near the back when Shelley herself recognizes them. It’s mostly quiet, both wanting to relax and leave the tiring day behind, enjoy a proper (and delicious as ever) meal.

 “So how has life been treating you? Paperwork aside.”

Hideo shrugs.

“Can’t complain. Hana’s pestering me about taking a vacation again.”

“Ah, Hana. Ten bucks say you cave by next week.”

“With your help, I assume.”

Harry grins after taking a hearty gulp of his beer.

“What can I say? It’s for a good cause.”

They stay longer than they had originally planned, well into the night, since Hideo’s off the next day and Harry has a late shift. It’s after ten by the time they leave, walking the few blocks to Hideo’s apartment.

“You only drank two bears, so you shouldn’t even be tipsy.”

Harry throws an intrigued look at the non sequitur, pulling up his hoodie to fend off the cold wind.

“True enough. Why? You have something in mind?”

“Probably what you had in mind when you went looking for me back at the Precinct, slick.”

Harry can’t help it: he throws his head back and laughs, nearly howls with laughter. Pikachu and Snubbull, walking a few paces before them, startle and turn to look at them, go back to ignoring them once they make sure nobody’s dying.

“I can never catch you off guard! But in all honesty, my intentions where pure when I invited you to dinner.”

Hideo, with his hands deep in his pockets and the softest smile, tells him, “I know, Harry.”

They make the rest of the way in comfortable silence and Harry does his best not to lock himself up inside his head, come up with the worse scenarios, all evidence to the contrary be damned.

Hideo’s apartment, a one-bedroom loft, both is and isn’t what people tend to expect of the man, especially his coworkers, most of which see him as a stoic figure, shrouded in shadows and mystery. The Lieutenant’s place _is_ mostly plunged into darkness at almost all hours of the day, but at least it has a nice view to a park. The floors and most of the furniture are oak, mahogany or cherry, the fabrics dark-ish greens and blue, making for a visually warm space; the more modern touches where in the kitchen, all white and metallic, whereas the bedroom was greys and blues and all kinds of soft fabrics. Everywhere you looked you’d find a well-tended plant, a well-cared for book, and framed pictures of Hideo’s family.

Harry starts taking his shoes and jacket off and putting them in the usual spots when the familiarity of it all knocks him a little off balance. This isn’t something he wants to lose.

“Me neither,” says Hideo when he tells him as much.

They stand in the foyer (or what passes as foyer, really) for a long moment in their first display of hesitation of the entire night.

Well, time to be a responsible, sensible adult.

“I’m sorry,” he exhales and promptly looses his ability to think, much less to speak.

Hideo gives him a soft, considering look, not pushing yet, and starts rolling his sleeves back before starting for the kitchen.

“Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please.”

Turns out, Harry’s still a fan of black tea.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for taking so long with this one? I was (still kinda am) really out of it, sorta, and I could hardly write a sentence or two at a time, so, yeah.  
> And although I'm not sorry for how I ended this story, let it be known that I understand anyone who doesn't like it.  
> Thank you to everyone who left comments, kudos or simply read it silently from the shadows! You all are lovely!
> 
> (No beta, we fall like Crowley. Let me know of any mistakes, please?)

**Author's Note:**

> Decided to post this as son as I had it done, to test the Waters, I guess, so it's a WIP and I don't know when I'll have the next chapter ready, sorry? Also, the coffee/tea thing is just an excuse, and it sounded nice in my head, and at this point we all know Harry has a PROBLEM.  
> Any mistakes, please let me now. Hope you enjoyed this!  
> Also! And you can skip this if you want, but! I know at the end of the movie Tim tosses his train ticket to the trash in a nicely flashy way, but, come on, that just seems like a waste to me. So, in my head and in this story, Tim simply changed the date for it, pushed it a few days so he could be with his dad and make sure he was ok before he could go to his grandma's and get clothes and other things, plus maybe something else? But that's for next chapter anyway.


End file.
